The Case of Affection
by Sawre
Summary: Sherlock's heart is cold and logical; full of only criminal cases. But then John appears and he can't help but be in love - and then he starts to wonder, is love all that different from a case?


For Sherlock, it felt like an experiment. It started out with a curiosity, maybe a case – _how did the body end up like that? What was the cause? Why was the grimace of the victim in such a strange way?_ However, it wasn't some sort of mysterious murder case; it was the case of Sherlock's emotions. Why did his heart do that strange double-beat-skip when he saw John? What was the cause? Why was the twisting of that man's lips so fascinating?

Then it became the investigation. _Body found at intersection of two roads. Arm positioned suspiciously under torso. Drop of blood on white collar. _Staring at John when he looked away, stealing glances to deduce the specific twists and turns of that man. Soft-looking hair and slight wrinkles but warm eyes. Mocking twists to his thin lips but a small frame like a stuffed plush. Watching carefully, deducing and noting what twisted Sherlock's heart so.

Consultation had to be next. That's what they did in Scotland Yard cases; _Lestrade. Confusing. What would you say? Watson – if you were to be stabbed, which way would you run? Molly, how do you feel when you're scared and there's no place to go?_ With this, there was no place to go. No one to ask. Consulting himself seemed to be the best way to go. Hide the secrets in his heart, empty save for three spaces saved for his friends. Save every skip of his heart, every romantic urge, every long pause or glance into his hard drive and double back it up so it wouldn't get lost.

The solution. _Of course, the murderer fired the shot from across the street, obviously. No, not a homicide – he jumped. By the blood, it's clearly and blatantly obvious it was multiple stab wounds. _Deducing and noting every movement of Watson around Sherlock and every abnormal reaction proved to be quite beneficial; plus, the extra bit of research on Irene's pulse. Only one thing could cause the world's only supposedly asexual consulting detective to have a tremor in his hand, a quaver in his self-confidence and a stumble in his heart – Watson. And only one thing could come of that, and cause it.

And finally, the wrap-up. Announcing the victim or the end of a case, always recognizing the man to solve it all. _Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade reporting live from press conference; "Murder victim's homicide recognized; suspect found guilty on evidence from home search –solved by Sherlock Holmes." _But how does on go about wrapping up a case like this? How to finalize the end, to get closure? No family to console, no criminal to lock up behind bars. Just one man, one affection and an innocent victim…

Surprisingly, it was like figuring out a case in general. A bit backwards, but that didn't matter. Put your hands _there, _press up against _that _furniture, tower over him _just _right and kiss those lips with _just enough _pressure.

First it was a basic investigation of poking about. Watson standing quietly by the window, looking out on Baker Street with a cup of tea. An ugly sweater; probably a gift from Harry. A light sigh for unperceivable reasons, setting down the tea. Then Sherlock's soft footsteps, lazily approaching from the doorframe.

"Hello, John."

"Sherlock."

"You seem upset."

"Hardly."

A pause – two beats – a sad look in Watson's hardened face and a note of pity in Sherlock's.

"You're upset."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I am NOT!"

A bit of anger now, a twinge of frustration. Watson glared at Sherlock. Sherlock moved in closer, the shorter man with his back to the wall now.

"You're upset, Watson, I know it."

And without grace nor caring, simply one movement like a hawk or simply a detective swooping in on a case – Sherlock's mouth covered Watson's. Watson's back snapped straight like a bow with the string cut, his lips unconsciously melding to the shape of Sherlock's. The taller man let one hand rest on the textured wallpaper and the other on the coolness of the window; all the warmth he needed was from the contact with John.

The exhilaration of a brand new puzzle, an argument with Moriarty; a rush of adrenaline and what was this? Sherlock, only excited by a taped off crime scene, giddy like a child with his lips enveloping Watson's mouth and arms like a cloak around him. The crime-scene deduction skills were taking it all in, from the feel of the wall to every minute movement of John.

_Small movement of the lips, good, reacting back. Shifting of the arms – hands. Finding hair, tangling hair, losing breath, kiss _there_, break away. Eyes wide-eyed, staring, deer-in-the-headlights…did I do something wrong?_

"Sherlock…Holmes…I will…_bloody kill you…_"

By the way Watson's hands yanked Sherlock's shirt and their lips locked, Sherlock was very sure he had this case locked up.


End file.
